Rise

I get into my head a lot, over the tiniest details. I can ponder for ages over whether coffee tastes better when I drink it with the lid on the takeout cup or without; I can contemplate outfits days ahead of going out and I probably spend immeasurable hours thinking about how I feel.

How do I feel about this? This person? This object? This situation?

The unfortunate coupling of self-awareness and introspection often leads me to judge myself for my emotions; and for the conscious effort I make to keep them in check. It’s tedious to not accept yourself for who you really are. Why do I do this? 

Note the use of the word ‘I’: once upon a time, when I did a creative writing piece in high school, I used to generalize my personal opinions behind the veil of ‘we’. It would be ironic to try to hide myself, now.

Would the world, I wonder, be a brighter place if we all wore our hearts on our sleeves? Would my, tiny, world be a little bit nicer if I chose to let myself live without fear? I know other people are scared, just like me. Scared to let themselves love in the way they want to. Scared to reach out a little bit more. Scared to let themselves free fall through the infinite skies – to feel their hair burn around their face and the pressure crash through their bodies as the world plummets.

So, so scared.

If you’ve been looking for a sign to let yourself feel what you’ve been trying to hide: this is it. Take my hand, and let us, together, experience ourselves through the depth of emotion birthed by our own souls. For all emotion is fuelled by love – love gained, lost, craving, absent; and love is above all things. Maybe falling isn’t what we should be doing – we should, rather… rise.

I'm, undoubtedly, selfish in this invitation to you to let yourself live with your emotions - because, truth be told, I want company. I would love to see people smile when they want to, bubble up inside when they see people who make them happy. It would warm me to see people laugh until their sides ache, and to tell all the people that they love how they truly feel. 

In a world where your emotions are put aside so you can fit the grey scale description of perfection - let us together have the courage to colour the sky with the palettes of our hearts.  

"Your Skin Is Not Dirt"

I found this incredibly powerful; coming from a culture where peroxide is set to skin and where actresses enter Bollywood the gorgeous colour of almonds and leave blanched. Where we look at the array of crèmes behind the counter at Gorima’s and wonder about whether we, too, should be using Golden Pearl.

Stop.

We are beautiful. 

If ever I’ve thought about a cause I could fight for – or see myself advocate close to home – it has to be the issue of the Indian female complexion. It was a topic as potent as the smell of peroxide.

I was in high school when a family member and I experimented with peroxide; it was a hideous smelling yellow powder that was applied to my skin – and it burned me. It hurt something awful. I had to wash it off within a few seconds of it touching my skin.

Looking back, I feel absolutely ashamed for all the times I’ve used Fair & Lovely, Golden Pearl or any of those terrible skin lightening creams. For what? Perhaps it was the murmur at the back of my mind at how everyone loved how fair my mother is; and how I did not match her yellow-white glow. Perhaps it was the realization that Rani Mukherjee, whom I saw a lovely caramel colour in one movie became an ivory beauty the next. Or, perhaps, it was the way that Bollywood lyrics idolised the ‘gori-gori’ fair glow of a lighter skinned beauty.

It was an issue I, thankfully, left behind in Durban.

When I got to Cape Town, I found myself walking. A LOT OF WALKING. The sun exposure was not avoidable at all. I could hear my mum chirping at the back of my mind – ‘Don’t walk in the sun, you’ll get so dark’ – but, what could I do? I had to live. I also learnt that sunblock has no bearing on whether your skin will tan, it just mitigates sun damage.

I think lots of girls realized this, too, and in doing so, we came to see how really unimportant the issue is. We joke about it, laugh about it while we walk from upper campus to lower campus, giggle at how the sun is tingling against us – but, the sad reality is, these jokes all have deeper origins. Darker ones, for a terrible, terrible pun.

So, to those ladies who are trying to look like almond milk.

Stop, sweetheart.

Chai comes in many shades.